


Just Be Patient

by saintsavage



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Infertility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:51:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4058947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsavage/pseuds/saintsavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After nearly three years without any signs of conception, Nynaeve consults another set of experts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Be Patient

Taking a deep breath Nynaeve smoothed her pale green skirts, assuring herself that she looked, if not felt, like the Queen she now was. _Light, I don’t know how anyone believes it when I hardly do._ Elayne had told her once that part of being royalty is projecting an air of confidence and serenity, no matter what; it was advice she clung to now when all she wanted to do was hide in her rooms and weep. It wasn’t fair that they’d lived through the end of the world only to be felled by something so simple, so common: over three years since her hasty marriage and in all that time there’d never been even the inkling of Nynaeve being with child.

With an ease she did not feel, a smile that felt brittle and strained, the Queen of Malkier, Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah, Healer of the Unhealable, entered the room where four women waited, hoping that maybe this time there would be a different answer for her. Something. Anything but a pitying, uncertain shake of the head. It was almost worse than the encouraging words, the assurance that she was healthy, that it would happen; almost, but not quite. At least the pity did not offer any small promise of hope.

Earlier in the day, while going over correspondence - she’d never have imagined that being a Queen would mean letters upon letters, stacked a span high some days, demanding her immediate attention - her secretary had handed her a letter from Saldaea bearing news: Zarine ni Bashere t'Aybara was expecting a second child, some time in the spring. Outwardly Nynaeve had smiled, penning a glowing response rather than dictating it aloud. _That is wonderful news! I am so happy for you both. Of course I’ll be there to assist-_ her hand shook, the only sign of her devastation.

Two children, soon Perrin and his Faile would have _two_ babes of their own, and they weren’t the only ones. Mat - she refused to call the fool boy Knotai, that was just Seanchan nonsense - hadn’t bothered with letters but news of the Empress recently giving birth to her second child was weeks old now. In Andor Elayne had her golden twins, Aviendha her impossible quads. Even Min was sporting a telltale bump! Everyone had begun their own families now that the chaos of Tarmon Gai'don had passed them over… yet Nynaeve’s belly remained hollow, empty of the life she vehemently prayed for.

It was a bitter thing, to feel joy and envy so keenly, eating away at every shred of decency she’d ever had. Once she’d have been glad for such news, would have been so very pleased and happy that Perrin once again had a family of his own. After all he’d endured, he deserved that. She might have grinned at the idea of Mat having a babe on each of his knees while his Empress went about the business of frustrating whoever was foolish enough to keep her from her Crystal Throne. And Rand with six underfoot! It would have made her laugh outright to imagine the chaos of that household.

It _should_ have made her laugh.

Instead she took in the news with a brittle smile, thinking spitefully that Perrin was more wolf than man, why should he be a father? That Mat was a gambling womanizer who probably didn’t even understand how blessed he was, his cursed luck handing him everything on a bloody platter yet again. Light, when she found out about Min she’d actually thought about how indecent the situation was, how his body had belonged to one of the Forsaken and surely wasn’t even clean so what sort of children would they have?

Nynaeve was shamed, to her very core, to know she was capable of such petty cruelty, even if it was only in her thoughts.

And now she stood before yet another set of supposed experts, not bothering to hide her desperation. This time she had gone to the Wise Ones after hearing from Elayne that they knew special weaves dealing solely with pregnancy; surely they could help her, could give her some new advice. She was past blushing crimson to her roots at the bald suggestions and tips she’d received from midwives and even her fellow Yellows. Whatever it required, Nynaeve would do.

Being Aiel, they quickly disabused her of the notion that she was prepared for them, ready to take whatever they would dish out with the dignity and grace befitting a queen. No one could have been prepared for their blunt assessments, stripping her down to her skin, prodding her, poking at her with their hands and the power; all the while commenting, naturally.

Amys grabbed at Nynaeve’s hip. “Look at those hips! Nice and wide, you’d think she’d already have borne a passel of babes!”

To which Bair responded by pointing at her breasts and speaking with a smug sort of authority. “She’ll certainly be able to give suck.” Silver head nodded sagely before turning to Melaine. “More than a handful up top, firm too. That won’t last long once she gives her husband a few boys.” Aeron doesn’t do much more than grunt in agreement as they continued on, saying things that made her blush down to her toes.

_Bloody women, talking about- it’s indecent! Leave it to Aiel to even think that way._ But she answered all of their questions, jumped when they told her, opened her mouth and lifted her feet, going over her like a horse they intended to buy and put to plow. It was mortifying. _I’ve lived through worse than this. I’d run across the Blight, or what’s left of it, completely bare if it meant I could have a child. Just one, one baby. Surely that isn’t so much to ask of the Creator, after everything?_

Nynaeve was only grateful that they did not ask casual, cutting questions, blaming her for her lack of children. As though she had any sort of control over it, as though she hadn’t tried and done everything she could think of! As if she were _intentionally_ not having as many little Princes and Princesses as Lan could give her! _Foolish, light-blinded idiots- no, I’m not going to think about it. The Wise Ones are going to help me, I know they will. They have to. Light, please let them help me._

At the end of their examination they helped her dress, refusing to tell her anything, conferring with one another behind a warded wall of air. After long moments of awkward silence, fidgeting with her braid, trying her best to remain calm, the ward was taken down and the Wise Ones approached her. Amys spoke first, her face giving away nothing. “You are healthy, El'Nynaeve ti al'Meara Mandragoran. We see no reason for you not to have many babies in the years to come.”

Nynaeve can feel her face drop. She can’t help it. _Not again._ They surprise her by coming forward, putting their arms around her as she blinks back the tears, angrily refusing to cry. Not in front of these women who think so much of strength. But Amys is gently rubbing her back, Melanie is smoothing her hair. Their kindness is unexpected and all the more sweet because she can sense that they do not pity her.

Amys speaks again, fondness in her voice. “It took me four years before I had my firstborn, Nynaeve Sedai. I believe it has something to do with the slowing.”

“But Elayne-” Her voice is mewling, almost a sob, and she hates herself for it.

“Elayne Sedai is only now showing the signs of slowing. It is different for all.” Another affectionate pat. Despite the cold despair sinking in to her belly Nynaeve’s tears have begun to dry. Nothing is happening as she’d expected, not during what should have been a simple exam, not in her entire life. Sometimes she asks herself how she managed to end up so far from home, loving a people that she’d adopted as her own and married to a man she couldn’t have dreamed up. She was a queen, a real queen! Light, she should be grateful.

But old dreams die such hard deaths, and in her old life she’d wanted nothing more than to heal those she claimed as her own and to have a family she could call hers. It was hard to be the last al'Meara, with not even a cousin to help ease the loneliness that sunk in to her bones after the death of her parents. The people of Two Rivers had been her family, for a time, and now the people of Malkier, but it wasn’t the same.

Many assumed her distress came from wanting to give Lan a child, fearing he might set her aside if she did not. It was true, she did want Lan to have a family, to give him sons and daughters to love him as she did… but there had never been even the slightest pressure from him to conceive. He’d never even shown disappointment that she hadn’t and seemed surprised when she’d cautiously brought the topic up. It seemed to baffle him.

During one of her better moments, when she was feeling strong enough to address the problem even if it hurt to confront it, she’d asked him why he didn’t seem concerned or upset by their childless state. Didn’t he want an heir? Wasn’t he worried about the future of Malkier?

Lan had wrapped his arms around her, all warmth and radiating comfort, and told her that he was already blessed with so much. That having the bride of his heart beside him was more than he deserved… he counted himself the luckiest of all men, luckier than Matrim Cauthon himself. She’d felt horrible then, selfish for wanting more, but in his usual way Lan had assured her that her feelings were perfectly normal.

There were times she could have smacked him for his steadfast calm, but that had not been one of them.

A hand at her chin brings her back to herself and the women around her. Feeling slightly abashed Nynaeve takes a careful step back, offering a weak smile to the Wise Ones. “Thank you, all of you.” More words are spoken, news exchanged, before they make their way towards the Traveling grounds. Ordinarily most Aiel avoided using gateways, scoffing at the ease they offered, but they were anxious to return to their clan.

Nynaeve watched them go, heart still burdened, but perhaps less so than it had been before. _I just have to give it time, like they said. Everyone agrees that there’s nothing wrong and I need to stop worrying. It’s going to be fine. One way or another. It’ll happen, I just have to be patient._

These thoughts are not much of a comfort in the months to follow, when her courses continue to come with painful regularity, but she repeats them to herself. A soft litany, a prayer.

On the days where it is too much and she finds herself sobbing in her room, curled in a tight ball, Lan always comes to hold her, locking the world out with a flat stare that brooks no argument. It isn’t enough, but it is something.


End file.
